


Cassandra

by thequeenisdeadboys



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenisdeadboys/pseuds/thequeenisdeadboys
Summary: This is about how important it is - not boiling up your feelings. Without going in depth about it.





	Cassandra

**Author's Note:**

> In the title I'm hinting that metaphorical girl philosophy majors mention when conserns are disbelieved, but they prove to be right mmmmhhhhmmmmmmmm
> 
> also this is the first fic i've written in english! i'll mark this day in my calendar app

Charon was sitting on a couch in a tiny room in Megaton house, suiting himself for the hardest battle ever - with feelings.

 

He’s got a lot of them. Mostly he was hurt. Hurt over being pushed away by someone who he felt so close to, whom he grew so fond of and believed this being a mutual thing.

 

He tried to convince himself it could be the only outcome but it didn't help. He didn't want to leave. Not just yet.

 

He stood up and left the room hanging his head so he won't get hit in the face with this low doorway. He never learned how to elaborate personal relationships but it was clear even to him - the worst outcome would be if they wouldn't talk.

 

The jukebox was never silent and it was better than the agonizing silence that would envelope this house if not this. Still, Charon didn't feel very empowered going downstairs with some really funny song.

 

He found Rosario right there, on the couch, staring pointlessly at the pattern of a rug he brought from that Moira, a girl with fox’s face and a voice full of weird intonations. He noticed Charon coming despite the jukebox yelling and turned his head to him. Then he sat half-turned on his cosy pink couch placing his elbow on couch back. A quick look at his face was enough to understand that this man was drunk, with his half-lidded eyes gazing absently and mouth loosely open. Yet Charon couldn't find better way to start their conversation:

 

“Are you drinking?”

 

“Ohh? Yeah, I do. Was it the bottle that gave me away?” Charon didn't see any bottles, but Rosaro raised his hand with one and shook it for emphasis. Charon almost scoffed as he saw that the bottle of whiskey Rosario so desperately was getting down to wasn't even empty on the half - it got two or three shots for him to lose it. This is the man he knew. Charon even got heartwarmed a bit. But he remembered why he got here in the first place.

 

Three Dog from the jukebox greeted his listeners as loud and cheerfully as usual. Charon signed realizing he doesn't know what to say.

 

“We need to talk.” He said simply.

 

Rosario chuckled but insincere, out of nervousness.

 

“Really? Well, I… oh no!” The bottle of whiskey fell off Rosario’s unruly fingers. It fell on a rug and didn't break apart but whiskey got spilled over the rug and pungent smell spreaded over the room.

 

“Wadsworth!” he yelled. “I made a mess!”

 

“I’m coming, sir!” answered polite mechanical voice of an intelligent robot from the kitchen.

 

Rosario stood up and went around the couch, reeling, to Charon and offered to come upstairs.

 

“I know you just came down but please…” he asked quietly, like he was afraid of the robot overhearing them. Charon frowned but turned to the stairs.

 

He stood in the atrium, his hands crossed on his chest, watching Rosario slowly going up the steps. He was holding a wall with one hand, and it supposedly was going to keep him from falling.

 

“Need help?” Charon grunted.

 

“Almost there,” Rosario said but more to himself.

 

Still when there was just a few steps for him left, Charon reached his hand to Rosario. After looking at it for a few seconds he grabbed it instead of a wall. Charon pulled him, and Rosario thought gloomily that it wasn't the gentlest gesture he received from him.

 

They stepped away from stairs, closer to a vending machine that was buzzing quietly and evenly.

 

“Now we talk,” Rosario leant comfortably on the vending machine. 

 

“Excellent. Listen… do you still want me to be around? If not, you could just hand my contract over and I…”

 

“WAIT. Are you leaving?” Rosario’s eyebrows pinched upwards and he stared at Charon with huge dark brown eyes full of fear like if Charon confessed to him a crime against humanity.

 

“Only if you tell me so.” He sighed.

 

“I can’t! I won't!” Rosario sounded whiny and pathetic as he tried to hold back tears that immediately appeared in the corners of his eyes.

 

Charon regretted what he said in one minute. But Rosario continued.

 

“Well, I know what I said yesterday. And I didn't mean it. Well, some parts anyway. I still want to be left alone, understand? But… not like that… or… I don't know! I lost everything at once! My father, my friends and what could be my home. Everything is gone, real gone. I thought it might be a weird.”

 

“A weird?”

 

“Yes, weird as in fate. I read that in a book.” Rosario punched a wall that was separating atrium from bedroom. It could his way to point at his room where all the books were at.

 

“Anyway,” he said. “I got a massive bad luck, don't you think? I’m losing terribly and it costs lives of the people I love. Charon, I can't allow something happen to you. Something that would led me to watching you dying or betraying me. Sorry it got to this point.”

 

Charon scratched his head and felt a few hairs left on his fingers. He shook them off and looked directly at Rosario.

 

“I understand now.”

 

“Yeah… You know, I can understand you too. I’m a real pain in the ass. I don't want you to be hurt no more. I  _ will _ let you go. If that's the way the weird is gotta punish me for something, I’ll take it.”

 

“Please, stop that.”

 

“You started it - you finish.”

 

“I know, but…” Charon sighed heavily. Rosario got one thing right - it should be finished. By him.

 

“Listen. There’s no weird. Bad things, good things - they just happen.”

 

“Bad things happened to me one after one, in a row. If it's not karma I don't know what it is. And you know what karma is?”

 

“It's nothing.”

 

“So many bad things can’t happen just ‘cause!” Rosario yelled.

 

“Yes, they can,” Charon said harshly, like he was declaring a war and then echoed own words in softer, quieter tone. “Yes, they can.”

 

Rosario’s lips tremble, and he lowered his eyes full of tears.

 

“I want to believe that,” he said. “I really do. But whose fault is this it happens to me, then?”

 

He heard Charon making a step towards him, and it took him an effort not to transfer his sight from old, shabby rug on the floor up to the ghoul. Spasm was squeezing his throat like a running knot and he looked like blood was drained from his face.

 

Charon reached his hand to cup Rosario’s cheek. It was wet from tears. And warm. He was just like this, warm like the sun but closer. Charon seldom saw the sunlight in his life before. He was leaving Underworld quite regularly at Ahzrukhal’s request, but the sky outside was always dark, always hidden behind heavy clouds of dirty gray color. And when Rosario took his contract and him to his adventures, he learned that there still was a clear sky somewhere in the Capital Wasteland. He saw sunrises red like blood and sunsets of soft pink color like blush. And when the sun is right above, it radiates warmth, and the sky is pretty blue color and clouds are white and take funny shapes sometimes.

 

Feeling warmth on his skin - or a few pieces left of it - was the best feeling in the world. No matter, if sun warmth or warmth a man’s body leaning to him or his hot breath on his face.

 

“I know people worse than you,” he said finally. Then added, after a moment: “You are, in fact, the best person I know.”

 

Rosario stood still and held breath allowing Charon to gently caress his lips. But his lips were so dry and chapped so badly, ghoul’s rough finger got stuck on them.

 

“I spent all my life among scum. I probably  _ am  _ a scum. You are out of my league. You are too good - I don’t deserve you. And you deserve better.” Charon took Rosario’s chin and raised his head. Their eyes met.

 

“I don't think it was fate that we met. It was… an occasion. A happy one.”

 

Rosario couldn't restrain weak but sincere smile.

 

“Well, that is... reassuring,” Rosario said with a small laugh and wiped his tears with his shirt’s sleeve. “Thank you, Charon. Thank you for being here with me.”

 

“Anytime,” Charon got so flustered he couldn't think of anything better to say.

 

Rosario’s smile grew wider.

 

“How can you say I deserve better after this? You are everything I ever needed.”

 

Charon didn’t say a word. He replaced his hand from Rosario's chin to the back of his head and pulled him closer. They embraced tightly, and Rosario buried his face into Charon’s black leather jacket and closed his eyes, swollen from crying.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was so cruel.”

 

“It’s… fine.”

 

Rosario forcefully laughed, pulled away from Charon and took his hands.

 

“Fine according to Charonometer, it seems.”

 

“I’ve had worse.”

 

“Yeah, I know. Still, raise your standards. Your days among scum are over.” He paused shortly and then continued: “And I will make sure it won't happen again.”

 

He squeezed Charon’s hands, and he squeezed them back, giving warmth and calmness to his shaking hands, cold on the tips. Whatever of these he got anyway.


End file.
